Tides and times and
toil and trouble
take their toll -
by little landslide,
a changing landscape
weathered; beaten; battered.
An eroded horizon on which
we erected dreams, to watch
into the sea.
The cliffs fall
and nothing is sure any more.
Gone those rocks we clambered over
as children and gone those pools they made,
in which we’d drown ourselves.
Ticks the distant clock
a quake with every tock
gone the sturdiness beneath our feet
now the land we stand on rocks.
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Comments about this poem (Rocks by Dan Brown )
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